Departure: Like a Stone
by da punked-out gym bunny
Summary: A client doesn't get a pet, she becomes one. Complete. Fairly short, ne? Reviews much appreciated.


  
based on Pet Shop of Horrors   
lyrics by _Audioslave_   
piece by Soliloquy Addams   
  


**Departure: Like a Stone**

  
  
On my deathbed I will pray   
To the gods and the angels   
Like a pagan to anyone   
Who will take me to heaven   
To a place I recall   
I was there so long ago   
The sky was bruised   
The win was bled   
And there you led me on   
  
In your house I long to be   
Room by room patiently   
I'll wait for you there   
Like a stone I'll wait for you there   
Alone   
  
The count sat perfectly motionless, breathing fine art. A veil of smooth jet silk shrouded his face, which exuded the timeless tranquility of a polished stone caressed for eons by a mild flowing stream. This veil of hair, reposing upon skin the shade of white marble or perhaps fine china, obscured his second eye of a alluring violet capturing the sky at the moment precisely between the sun's last wave and night's encompassing, the elusive violet in which the stars reveal themselves. His robe, one of quality worthy of his presence, was an ebony field on which roamed a golden dragon of many claws; each scale was a masterpiece and it breathed as much as the count himself.   
  
While appearing completely still, he savored every new sensation his body reported. For instance, he currently enjoyed the feedback of the muscles when the limbs are arranged in one position of many called sitting. The air -- its temperature, the movements, its speed, its currents, the energizing atmosphere before and during a whipping storm -- all these were a constant pleasure he relished.   
  
At this particular moment bells tinkled above his front door accompanying the person who had entered the shop. The marble, jet, and silk statue rose; the Stradivarius voice spoke in greeting, and the gentleman expressed an honest concern for the customer's search.   
  
The customer was young, but not so young. She replied, "I'll know it when I see it, I hope. Something will jump up and bite me, or cry my name, or there will be some Sign." The grouping of words was not so much basic communication as a hope-filled talisman.   
  
The count absorbed the information, both the spoken and unspoken, and cogitated. He observed her scan one after another glass or wire cage without a reaction before moving on to the next, without purpose. Patiently, he asked, "Though you cannot describe what you seek, you must have some idea. Otherwise, how would you recognize your Sign when you saw it?" It was a gratis dose of his natural, quiet wisdom.   
  
She whirled without warning. "Forget it. Forget my first idea. I want a dog that was found as a stray. Find one that is afraid of humans because of an owner that was cruel, one with fur missing and cuts, stitches, and scabs that I have to heal, one that is afraid of all humans including me and I have to make it trust me." The sharpness of her imagery and the suddenness of her outburst were both shocking and embarrassing. The woman took a deep breath. "I shouldn't have come here." But rather than retreat, she broke contact merely by inspecting the shelves again.   
  
As genuine as the customer's desire was, Count D might have had to send her on her way without a living thing, unless he could read something in her spirit - -the way he can with most human species- - to suggest otherwise. "Your goal to restore a wounded, damaged animal to health is a noble one. However, it may be unsuitable. This item may be more appropriate."   
  
He moved gracefully towards a polished and engraved wood case at one of the corners on the back wall. The customer followed cautiously. She peeked inside, regarded the benevolent host, and asked what its point was.   
  
"This object represents the outlooks of both Eastern and Western cultures. In the East, rock gardens calm the mind by focusing on something besides oneself. And in America this object is suitable for citizens who are barely responsible for taking care of themselves, much less a spouse, a child, or even an animal.   
  
"And so I present you -- the pet rock."   
  
The customer blinked, a bit stunned by his witty, subtle quip. "You're saying I should calm down first, then focus on something besides myself, or I'll never deserve more than this?"   
  
Count D didn't agree nor disagree, neither approved nor disapproved. "If that is what you have heard."   
  
"Yeoarw." It was an animalistic sigh of defeat. "If _you_ believe it, you're probably right. We are who others say we are." This too, was spoken with resignation.   
  
The superfluous energy, all of which was hostile, washed out of her. Before, it was like trying to hear the song through static, read a story on crumpled paper. Now at last he was able to read her spirit. And what a shade it was.   
  
The astral body - -which every person has- - did not match that of a human. A pair of wings reached from her back as a protective demi-shell. Back was straightened; hands were hardened to rigid with claws springing from the fingertips; spurs split at the backs of the hands and curved spikes of bone or metal cracked from the forearms and elbows. The neck was elongated by a half; more than one set or large horns jutted from her head; a tail was ready to aid balance; and the wings pulled back and were powerfully eager to spring.   
  
The count weighted all this with his knowledge of centuries. {Ah, so one of these has arrived. How natural for it to have come here.}"Perhaps your solution is here after all. Please, come this way." The unhuman visitor followed obediently.   
  
The back room of the shop, larger inside than the outside measurement, held many various species and artifacts of which the outside world was necessarily ignorant. By definition, these magic relics had no place within the ordinary or mundane, and the reverse was equally true. Both he and the supernaturals consider each other equals.   
  
One showroom contained nothing more than a painting behind a silk cover. The observers, over numerous years, have all seen entirely different images within the same painting.   
  
To some, an angel of the Lord righteously strikes down a demon of Satan on a spiritual battlefield.   
  
To others, a hungry beast attacks a carefree pixie in a magical garden/jungle-like realm.   
  
Or the setting is a century ago in the "old country" ( always equally antiquated and distant no matter who sees it), and in it a sensuous vampire couples with a warrior-style werewolf They are mating, or imbibing blood, or both.   
  
The viewers always intuit an ethereal tie and an act of great importance occurring, but most of them misperceive the fervor as alarming. Not one has correctly intuited the union and intensity were blessed.   
  
As he rolled back the delicate wrapping, its effect was immediate upon the mystery guest. Frozen to the spot, choking mouth open, chest heaving, no air getting through, tunnel vision, nothing was real except the image; the two beings seized, they commanded, spoke directly, living images met eye to eye. Mesmerised. Eventually, though, she had to breathe, and the rapture dissipated. But did not fail to exert itself entirely.   
  
"It's compelling. It's _everything_--"   
  
He stood directly behind her, and a step to the side, so that one eye and a crescent of his face was visible behind hers. "But what are they?"   
  
"Don't _you_ see them?" No fraction of effort was in the spellbound voice; no real attention was on the count.   
  
"I see many things." The smooth Stradivarius met the entranced sigh. "The important thing is what _you_ see."   
  
"It is a gargoyle, _Her_ familiar.... It is ugly, No, it has an ugly body. No, it is beautiful with a beautiful body, but not the same way humans or _natural_ animals are beautiful. Its dedication to the other, the special one, is unmatched anywhere." At some point tears come to her eyes. She finds it hard not to sob. "Like serving a goddess. It would attack and drive off people just over an insult. For an _attack_, it would give its own life, smiling... as long as the goddess approved the sacrifice."   
  
She trailed off, unable to continue. Count D prompted gently, "You have done well in describing the familiar, and labeling its breed. But what of this second?"   
  
The woman stared at the painting as if the question confused her. After a moment she burst into tears. "I can't see it! I just can't picture anything about the other one!" She initiated the gradual process of reclaiming composure. "Sometimes she's like a lamia, or a human witch or sorceress, but I can't tell for sure. Why can't I see it??"   
  
The wise one observed, {She has something of an oracle within her, or rather intuition in her depths. But it is unfinished, much like the rest of the work to be done.} "Have you ever felt as if you had wings?" he began silkily. "I assure you, there is great opportunity for change ahead but much effort comes with it.... if you so wish."   
  
They sat down over tea as Count D frequently does with guests of honor, and also when he likes to pass the time. He told a story about spirit bodies and services of a familiar that she seemed to feel compatible with. They discussed rules and in the end he drew up a contract.   
  
Not to purchase a pet, but to become one.   
  
Condition one, the new existence would have room for one being only. Less than one month was allotted to settle affairs and make farewells to all friends and relations, who she told she would be starting world travel with missionaries (which, oddly enough, they believed) It was a kind lie so they'd be happy for her disappearance. ...That was the last goodbye to ties.   
  
After uniting with the kami, if the familiar puts someone else ahead of the one it belongs to, ruin would come from rejecting its nature and purpose.   
  
Condition two, all other dreams such as motherhood and professionalism had to perish. Neither would happen once the subject has forsaken the human scheme of things. And those plans died hard- - no child to love, no future to make a great contribution to the world. But her life belonged outside the ordinary world now.   
  
If the former human lets those wants linger, regret would make the new body from a chance-in-a-lifetime to a prison. A slow-acting hell made of bitterness instead of flames.   
  
Condition three, one must know when it is necessary to defy. There may come a day when the kami herself becomes dishonorable. Rebuke, strike, forsake - - or simply plea. If that day comes, being strong enough to face it can save from downfall.   
  
Before adapting, weaknesses had to be shed and outgrown. In the end, so was the human form itself.   
  
In return, the bestial astral body joined the ranks of the Count's menagerie of creatures. Instead of two kindred spirits wandering the earth, with the risk of circling each other like comets orbiting one another - -perpetually seeking, eternally distant- - the gargoyle remained in place with the chance that the other would seek it out. And the familiar waited like a stone.   
  
* * * * * * * *   
Notes: There will be a sequal in which the familiar is taken. This production is only after coming full circle in a period of nearly three years when the first version of this piece was originally written. If you made it this far, I beg of you to leave some comment, even if it's to complain it was boring. ^_~ ::bow:: 


End file.
